She did so wonderingly and he pulled himself into the seat beside her with a perceptible effort. The car shivered, then started on again, slowly at first, but gathering speed each moment. The Girl was staring at her companion curiously, anxiously.
"Are you hurt?" she asked at last.
He did not answer at the moment, not until the car had regained its former speed and was hurtling headlong through the night.
"My right arm's out of business," he explained briefly, then: "I got that second bullet in the shoulder."
"Oh, Dick, Dick," she exclaimed, "and you hadn't said anything about it! You need assistance!"
A sudden rush of sympathy caused her to lay her hands again on his left arm. He shook them off roughly with something like anger in his manner.
"Don't do that!" he commanded for the third time. "You'll make me smash hell out of this car."
Startled by the violence of his tone, she recoiled dumbly, and the car swept on. As before, the Burglar looked back from time to time, but the lights did not reappear. For a long time the Girl was silent and finally he glanced at her.
"I beg your pardon," he said humbly. "I didn't mean to speak so sharply, but—but it's true."
"It's really of no consequence," she replied coldly. "I am sorry—very sorry."